Pro tip: Don't ask questions you can't want to hear the answer to.

A few weeks ago, the kid told me she knew the D word. More on that here. The long & short of it? Totally innocent.

So when the kid said, "I know the F word." I figured:

• Fudge
• (At worst) freak or frig maybe a little 
• Friggin

Lesson learned, don't ask. Cause out it came, and it went a little like this:


I went through the motions. "What's the F word, kid?"

Her, matter of fact in face & tone: "F_CK."

Me, {silent shock - this, my friend, was no innocent dang } 
Her, "That's it."
Me, "Yes, it is. But don't say that again - ok. It's kind of one of the worst words you could use - where did you hear that?" {silently thinking - please don't say me. PLEASE don't say me.}
Her, "Missy* told me."
Me, {thanks G, it wasn't me. Just a little buddy at school. I can't even be mad at her hooligan friend, I'm too excited it isn't me. Or my hooligan friends.  I had a phone call on speaker the other day and didn't say "you are on speaker" and F bombs were thrown. Good, I'm glad it's a friend. Better her than me. Better her than me.} "Ok, well listen - it's not a nice word, please don't say it again. Don't tell others about it - it's not OK."

*Names changed to protect the guilty. Did I mention, I'm so f'ing glad it isn't me?

We're going to Disney. A true unveil: leave your tissues at home

The mistakes I made:

• Over thought the surprise element.
• Got a balloon too big for the box - part of said over-thought unveil. 
• Expected too much. 
• Rushed the announcement, it wasn't a good time. 
• Set up too many cameras. There may have been at least 2 in sight.
• Announced the big "WE'RE GOING TO DISNEY!" after a unique 2-3 hour nap. 
• Built up "we have a surprise for you" before she even came down to unwrap said over-thought unveil. The nerves kicked in with the case of sleep coma she was in and add to that complete stage fright.... 

When life hands you an underwhelming response, you make an iMovie.



An hour or so later she was vibrating with excitement. It will be wonderful.

Taken after the "surprise" element wore off. I asked her to
hold the sign... she came up with this face all on her own.

Sisterhood in motherhood

I was speaking with a friend the other day, a mother herself. We shared stories about trying to find friends. Not the friends you grew up with, went to college with, worked with - your mommy friends.  The friends you hear you'll find in a mother's group or at the hospital with your baby.  Their children and your children will be besties.  The women you'll find that are in this moment with you - your sisters in motherhood. They share your experiences, they understand what you are going through.  You'll go to the park. You'll have play dates. It'll be grand.

I have friends in my life, that are my family - they are my sisters. That's not what I'm after. Though if I'm being honest, I wouldn't mind a good local lifetime friend up in here. It's more so, I imagined that this whole motherhood gig would bare a sisterhood among other mommies. A bond or respect that is instant or at the very least likely.

Except it's not.

I'm sure these groups or people exist, somewhere. I'm not saying these magical mommies are the unicorns of Fantasyland. I am saying, I'd fall over if I met one.

This friend I was speaking to? She has three girls, all somewhere around my age. Home girl was speaking from experience... but guess what? It hasn't gotten any better, not from my vantage point. What the hell, I thought everything got better with time?

If you are going to say any combination of the following, I don't want to hear it:

• Get out there!
• Be patient. 
• Are you getting involved?
• Have you tried local mother groups?

I've tried it all.

I join online groups (meetup.com, local Facebook groups) and I have been kicked out of more than one. Why? Because I can't commit to the daytime play dates. I work. Let's not get into that divide, the continued debate, the {dramatic music} mommy war.

What the hell, ladies, I can't meet for coffee at 9:15 or story time at 11 and you can't do this girl a solid and let me be involved virtually to start? It's freaking meetupDOTcom. It's a freaking website. I told you I would meet up at some point, just needed to work some things out. What's that? None of you want to meet in any hour that is after 5 pm or on the weekend? Awesome. Leave me out in the cold? Thanks. I really feel that sisterhood, especially when I get another deactivation notice in my inbox. Nothing says solidarity like a "you can't be in our club" notice.

Said profile picture that
repels people.

Facebook? I've reached out to people and volunteered where I can for local events. Nothing. The group leader puts out a request for volunteers - message me - they say. Message I do and I don't get a response back. Is my profile picture not friendly enough? For God sake we're a freaking Pinterest dream right here.

I've signed up for classroom activities, reached out to other parents in the class to see how I can help and on more than one occasion received a "we're all set." I've attempted to volunteer directly through the PTO and received little encouragement if any response. It's as if, they have their tribe - their people - and not taking new recruits. They are all set. My oldest is in kindergarten. For all intents and purposes, I will be in the district for years to come. Wouldn't you want to let me in, if only for the tenure I have to offer? I've attended a PTO meeting in a room full of people who all knew one another. Not one person introduced themselves. I smiled, I said hello, I was friendly.  I was shy, but not unwelcoming. In the same meeting they discussed how more parents need to be involved and how could they get people to be more active?

It took all I had in me to not raise my hand, "Suggestion from the peanut gallery - a little 'hello, and how do you do' is a start. Playing hard to get as adults is not cute."
Side note: Someone is saying to themselves: "Are you this hostile in real life? Cause I think I found the issue." No, I'm not. That's why I didn't contribute in that moment, because I likely wouldn't have been able to be all calm about it. Someone who knows me is thinking, "You are TOTALLY this hostile." And to that I say: it's different if we already know each other.

Could I have been more aggressive (in a nice way), could I have stuck out my hand and introduced myself? Absolutely. I have. It still gets me nowhere.

At a recent meetup activity I was able to attend, I introduced myself to another mom. Stuck my hand out and said hello.  You know what she did? Didn't take her eyes off her phone. She was on meetup.com to see the RSVP list. She said she wanted to "see if she recognized anyone by their picture to introduce herself to." As I was introducing myself, live - and in person. 

I have this dream that I'll find my tribe. Forget the tribe, I'll take a warm body (that makes some semblance of eye contact). They have to be out there, right?  I'm looking for quality over quantity. I'm hoping for one person to let me in their club; to show me this comradery of motherhood - face to face.

Side note: did you know they make 'mommy play date cards'? I can't seem to get a hello, but somewhere, someone out there is meeting so many people she needs freaking business cards? How in the hell?

Source: etsy.com via Amanda on Pinterest

I'm going to keep trying. I'm going to keep at it. It doesn't help I'm coming from a place of starting out.  I've been the new girl for the last few years. I'm always starting this search. I cannot wait to not be the new one. When I come in contact with the 'next' new person - hold on, girl. Mama's gonna make you feel welcome, it will be uncomfortable for both of us - I'm sure.  I can assure you it's better than the alternative.

Failing at motherhood, example #ILostCount

You know when you are in argument with someone and you walk away dumb founded and then hours or days later you're like: GAH! If I only said X Y and Z.

That happens, and it's life.

What's horrifying is when in that moment, whether it is an argument or not - a moment in time - something happens where you fail your child. And moments, even hours later you think - I could have done that better.

I failed mine. Hours later, I thought, SHIT. Why didn't I say anything? And days later, I'm still thinking about it.

In comment to my kindergarten CHILD the following was said, in front of her: "Look at her! She lost some weight!"

I blinked.
There is no defense to my (non-re)action, but in that moment I remember thinking. Wait. Is this OK? Am I over thinking that this is wrong? I'm tired. I must be tired. 

Another lesson learned: listen to your gut. Always listen to your gut.

If I could do it all over, if I could be the mother I want to be my girl, it'd go a little like this:

Excuse me,  I'm sorry. Are you seriously commenting on my five year old's body? Providing her with a flashback where she is able to pin point where her body issues began to her therapist that I will gladly foot the bill to. I will be pissed, though, when I find out it's YOU that started it all. With all of that said, she's beautiful. Inside & out. And not that thing that people say, she is. She has enough pressures and she will - between kids - that's right children who barely have an excuse, television, magazines, the Internet - the god damn world will hand it to her. Perhaps during our "family time" we can lay off the fucking body issues. 

Ok fine, I probably shouldn't drop the F bomb - but I wish I could. I wish I could have said any portion of the shame on you speech that I now have in my head. Even if it cost me an F bomb, I should have. Sorry, kid. Some days I'll make you proud and other days I'll fail you - but I'll always love you and work to make it so the days of pride heavily outweigh the failures. The only fucking mass that matters.

My plea to who very well may be our grand finale

Dear JJ, 

Hello. Your mother here. You know. The one that carried you for 10 months. Sure, I didn't really know for the whole time. But I still carried you. And PS. Not to go there, but, let me go there: not only did I carry you, but with carrying you came the joy of giving myself a shot each night to remind not only are you there, but I can't eat ice cream or carbo load. It wasn't fun, nor funny. I hate shots, more than I hate being pregnant. While your commute to the world wasn't easy (for me), every day since then hasn't either. Yea, you are adorable. Cute. Funny. Strong (willed). Independent. Smart. Loving (when you are not on the attack). Beautiful. And so much more. But seriously, can we be real here?

War wounds of sisterly "love."

In return for the life we were blessed to give you, I ask you: why can't you cut me a break.  I'm not asking for the world, just a small - modest - list of things that I say, very confidently, it is the least you can do.

• Stop the violence.
• The hitting & scratching, has to stop. If you can't stop the latter, for the love of all that's holy, let me cut your claws semi-regularly. 
• Sleep. 
• We brought you down to one nap to avoid the 4am wake ups. But listen, even though 630am isn't 4am - it's still dark out. Wait until day breaks. For the love. 
• Take your one nap. You were at 2 naps at 2-4 hours a POP. How is it down to one nap you are barely clearing 2 hours. I am no math expert, but these numbers don't add up. 
• Stop being a snot.



For the love: SLEEP.

• I know you know how to say more than you let on. I know this because if I catch you at the right moment you do yo thing. This whole all of a sudden you don't know how to say Mama bs? Not.Cute.
• Be careful, tough guy.
• The climbing up, running for the stairs to go down, the putting ridiculousness in your mouth. The lot of danger you brush against each day? Cut.It.Out.

Love you, we do. Hard, absolutely. But if I'm being honest here - I thank each day that you were not our first because home girl - L would be a dang only child. As it is, I am putting off our hopefully third for fear what the next will bring. And sweet baby hay-zues, if my wish for twins were to come true... I don't know if your father would make it. For reals. 

Lovingly and hoping for a break, 

Your mother.
Mama. Go ahead, SAY IT. I know you can!

The work of an elf is never done.

The very night Santa could say he was "done" with the Guarro girls, this happened.

Her: "Daddy, I've been dreaming things. But I can't tell you, because I want my wish to come true."
Him: "Well, that's not really how it works. Are you talking about a birthday wish? Those you keep to yourself, but you can tell me other wishes."
Me (in my head): "For the love of all things good & jolly what in the what is she going to want now?"
Her: "Well, I've been dreaming about my list for Santa. But I can't say it, otherwise they won't come true."
Him (begins the con on our 5 year old): "L, that's really not how it works - we already sent our letter to Santa and you already told him what you wanted when you met him. If you want to change something, you kinda have to say it out loud so he gets the message? He sees you when you're sleeping, he knows when you're awake...  he doesn't reads minds."
Her: "Ok, well - you know how I said I wanted a Mérida doll?"
Him: "Yes."
Me (in my head): "SON OF A CANDY CANE. We have 3 Mérida dolls in our possession. Two we bought when we were out because we didn't know if the next place would have the version you wanted. We bought a safety and then found the one you wanted. A third just came in the mail; sent as a gift. You best say you want more than one Mérida doll, because we got'em."
Her: "Well, I don't want a Mérida doll anymore."
Me (in my head): "Of fa la la course."
Him: "Why? Would you be disappointed if Santa already packed up a doll for you? Why don't you want one now?"
Her: "Well, I don't want a doll. I want a stuffed animal Mérida, not a doll."
Him: "Hmmm... honestly, L. I don't know if stuffed animal princesses exist. I don't know if princesses are made into stuffed animals or just dolls."

Her (in her sassiest most serious tone): "Daddy. They are elves, they can make anything!"

Me: (immediately on the Internet finding out if a stuffed Mérida exists. It does. The shipping required, but not guaranteed, due to timing would cost almost $30. There is also a Disney store, 40 minutes away.): "Of course."

While a mother's love can't be measured it should certainly say something that I found my way to the Disney Store that night. I got the plush Mérida. And maybe her horse and three brother bears. If she doesn't freak out when she realizes Santa heard her new & improved Christmas wish, I'm invoicing her for gas.

Wishes

We were watching Aladdin the other day and the ball&chain asked the kid, "If you had 3 wishes, what would they be?" Thinking a plug for the cotton candy machine she is asking Santa for....

"I wish for a friend."

BOOM. Heart breaks, shatters, and combusted. All at the same time.  And not in a warm & fuzzy sort of way.

She gets along with everyone in class, according to the teacher. And always has great things to say about school and the kids (mostly) - but hasn't found a connection there.  I can't say that I don't understand.  I get it. I wanted to scream, "ME TOO, GIRL!" But I only accidentally fail at motherhood, I try not to try to fail. So I stay quiet and smile, and reassure her that it takes time to make good friends. It's taken Mommy her whole life, and I still struggle with it.

"Mama, what's struggle."

Inner monologue, "Life, kid. LIFE."
Reality, "When things are hard. When they aren't easy. When you have to try harder to do something."

Happy to be with friends.
At their birthday party.
With cake.

And in reality, it IS hard to make new friends. It's always been that way for me. Among the many traits I hope my kids don't 't get from me, that's my greatest wish. Because this face, this kind of true blue smile? I haven't seen it in awhile and the next time I do? I don't know if I'll be able to hide my happiness.

Life imitating art

Last week we met with a bunch of L's little friends.  I searched through my history - apparently I didn't write about this, but when we moved here, we wanted to make her 4th birthday special. We had always had family birthday parties - our friends & family would join together and celebrate our little girl. Here, in the STL - we didn't have many friends (2 1/2, generously) and no family - so we wanted to throw her a special party and invite all of her new friends, in class. We rented out a space and hosted a wonderful craft party. She chose "Under the Sea" theme and they made mermaids out of clothes pins, scratch art fish, and a bunch of other crap art. They all loved it. And in a weird twist, we (the new kids) introduced these kids (and their parents) to this little shop, the Craft Caboose.

Fast forward, every few months over the course of the last year, a few moms would get together. We would bring the kids to a craft class and for an hour we would have coffee & chat.  L loved this special time. For our bucket list of STL - one of the first things she wanted to do was go to the Caboose. I emailed the moms and we got the kids together. While, I didn't start with "this is our finale tour you will never see us again" in the back and forth I mentioned we were moving. 

While we were leaving the 'Boose, one of her buddies came up to her to say goodbye & this happened.

"L. I think I won't see you again, because you are moving. I'm really going to miss you. I'm really sad."

And then something about being a really good friend, the details are blurry because I melted into mush. Instantly. And then they hugged. (Side note: seriously, is it just me or can you see L holding on for dear life?)

We got in the car, and it started.

"I don't want to move."
"I love it here."
"I love my friends."
"I'm gonna miss St. Louis."
"I'm going to miss my friends."

I told her, I know. And I love it here, too. I'll miss her friends - our friends - our house - I understand. But we'll have a good time - it will be exciting! A new adventure!!! Remember what it was like last time? We felt the same feelings, and look at how much we love St. Louis and our new friends? It will all work out.

Her response?

"I know, Mommy - but I can miss my friends, too."

------

We had movie night. When it's move time, we eat pasta as much as possible and watch movies during the week. Basically, it's my survival. We watched Monsters, Inc. If you don't know the movie - it's hard to explain without really losing you on reality. Essentially monsters, in Monster World, need to gather screams from children to have power (get it? monster in the closet). It turns out, while they scare kids to gain power (electricity - not world domination) - they are really terrified of children. It's the strongest of the strong who lead the monster world. The main character, Sully (big blue guy), is the lead scarer and one day he comes upon a little girl (she slips through her closet door - the gateway to our world). Sully names her "Boo." Hilarious adventures ensue - fast forward, bad guy, good prevails and the energy crises is saved by finding out that laughter actually produces more energy than screams. After the victory Boo's closet door has to be destroyed, as she's "seen too much." This means Sully (Boo calls him, Kitty) can never see his little girl, ever again. It's sad.



In the end, Sully's buddy (Mike) puts together Boo's closet door so he can visit Boo again. And this happens.

Disclaimer: the only stupid clip I can find is one where some guy is crying in the background. But basically this is the scene where Sully's best friend, Mike (green guy) makes sure Sully can see Boo again. If nothing else, you need to see the end of the scene. Where Sully smiles.


As the credits roll, L immediately looks up at me and asks, "Why is he smiling like that?"

I explain, Sully is happy to see Boo - he missed her very much.

Almost immediately, she breaks open. Tears, sobbing, broken heart spilling all over our couch.

I ask her, "What are you feeling? What's going on, kid?"

She responds, "I don't know. He's just. Just, so cute."

But she doesn't need to explain. Her heart hurts, and there are no God damn closet doors she can walk through to see her friends - ever again. She will miss them, hard. And eventually it will fade and they will barely know the other existed - but right now? Right now, it's all she knows.

Pet Shop

We found a house. A beautiful, (almost) perfect, house. In the search for a new home - as it always is - it sucked. The weekend we went to Ohio, we did so by way of driving. If you map St. Louis to Cleveland it's a strong and solid: 9 hours 43 minutes. This does not take into consideration:

• Traffic
• Bathroom breaks
• Where the hell is that binky breaks
• Meal breaks
• Bathroom breaks
• Diaper changing, good lord what is that smell, breaks
• No seriously, where the hell is that binky breaks
• Some kind of law that states it is inhumane to strap children into car seats for any amount of time that exceeds reasonable expectations

After stopping on the way in to catch a few hours of sleep, we drove straight to our first appointment, Friday morning, and spent the next two full days looking at houses. I didn't count, but my best guess is we saw at least 20 different homes. House Hunters, three houses, this was not. In a surprise twist, by in large, the kids were fantastic. L showed off her all too familiar knowledge of home tours, opening doors, exploring, including audible "oohhs" and "ahhhs" in all the right places. At one point, she noted that, "this kitchen has a lot of space. It opens right into this room." If she said, "great open floor plan" I would have died right there, but I don't know - I feel like her sentiments were right on target and close enough. Anyway, there were a lot of houses, and a lot to remember. The house we went with was the first we saw on Saturday morning, I wouldn't expect her to remember it exactly - though I wouldn't have been surprised if she had. 


I had found the house, listed on a website, that had pictures attached to it. I found the link again, and had her look at the pictures to jog her memory. As she skillfully flipped through the pictures on the phone, she got to the last picture - that was of the back yard. This is what I heard.

"Oooh. YEEEEESSS!!! This house comes with pet deer!"

Final picture of the house.

I'm already tearing her away from a home she loves, and friends she will miss. I was not going to take away her new pet deer. So I may or may not have corrected her. Instead, I said, "Um. Yea, but they only visit sometimes and we can't pet them. They are the kind of pets you just look at. Sometimes."

Are you smarter than a 4 year old?

We recently instituted a new rule. Here's what was happening: L would rush through dinner to get to her dessert.  She would likely not eat "enough" and be hungry, after her dessert. The new rule was instituted: After you eat your dinner, you may have dessert. Eating all of your protein, fruits and/or vegetables are a must for dessert qualification. If you ask for dessert - that means you are done with dinner. You can not say later you are "still hungry" after you eat your dessert. After you eat your dessert, the kitchen is closed! If you are really still hungry, you can have a healthy snack but that means you rushed to dessert too quickly and the next night dessert is not an option. When the kitchen's closed, the kitchen is closed.

Last night, it was a really nice night out so we ate dinner outside. We had chilli and some left overs from the night before including some guacamole & chips. Yum. We have a back porch set and L LOVES to eat outside, we all do. It was fun, dinner was good - and L took her dessert outside so she could enjoy it out back. About 10 minutes after she ate dinner and her dessert I notice she is snacking on chips (they were on the table). Clearly breaking the no snacks after dinner & dessert rule. Her response?

"Yeah, but we aren't IN the kitchen so the kitchen can't be closed. We're outside. Doesn't count."

Scarring Children & Finding My Way

What you need to know: 

• I get lost. I get lost anywhere. Everywhere. Any how. I get lost. Some say that I get lost from the bathroom to my bedroom - and those people? They would be right. Sometimes I turn the wrong way.
• My kid asks a lot of questions. Like your head explodes a lot of questions.  
• We are committed to speaking the truth with the kids as much as possible. It isn't always pretty - but we are committed to be real.

The story at hand: on our way home from a play date the other day this happened. Word for (pretty much) word. Out of nowhere.

L: "How did you get the baby out?"
Me: "You mean JJ? Well..." {silently thinking - where is this going, how do I get out of it, what do I do? You need to STALL.}

L: "When you had the baby. When JJ got here. HOW did she get out of your belly? HOW did the baby get out?"
Me: "Well..."{silently thinking - where is this going, how do I get out of it, what do I do?}

L: "You know! How did JJ get OUT of your BELLY?! HOW?"

Me: "Well... {Feeling pressured.  Frankly at this point I'm feeling like perhaps the whole parenting principle of that pesky "honest" approach isn't the way to go. I'm thinking child birth would encompass what I SHOULD be truthful about? So off I go...} so, remember when Mama had that booboo? Well {SHIT I'm doing this thing.... nope. I'm not.} I had a surgery and the baby was born!"

{Please let that be good enough. PLEASE.}

L: "What is surgery?"
Me: {F}

L: "Mama, WHAT is SURGERY?"

Me: "Ok, so the doctors gave me medicine and they took the baby out."
L: "How?"

Me: "I don't know, L, they took the baby." {LIE, you are lying to your child.}

L: "Where did they take the baby? How did they get the baby out?"

Me: "I had surgery."
L: "What is surgery?"

Me: "It's when the doctor uses something like a knife to make a cut to get the baby out."
L: "A KNIFE?!"
Me: {crap} "Well, not a real knife - that we use to cut things - but a doctor's special knife for surgery."
L: "Did you feel the knife?"
Me: "No. The doctor's gave me medicine so I didn't feel anything. And L, it's not the same kind of knife that you know."

{Please let that be good enough. PLEASE.}

L: "So the baby was cut out of you?" 

Me: {Inner monologue: well, when you put it like that I have sufficiently f'd you up. Honesty, you are a son of a bitch. Silver lining? We're done here.} "Yup."

L: "But how did the baby get there? In your belly? Before the doctor had the surgery in you."

Me: "Um." 

{head explodes}

L: "Mama, how did the baby get into your belly?"

Me: "L. Um. I'm lost I need to pay attention to where I'm going, OK?"

I totally punked out. Good news? She's 4 so I'm sure I can find somewhere on this here Internet it's too soon. Also? Since I get lost pretty much everyday she is none the wiser that I wasn't actually lost.

Sometimes lurkers aren't up to no good

When it was time for the kid to get a bike (thanks Santa), I went to the store, ill prepared. Let this be a lesson to all parents - those looking to purchase a bicycle and those being stared at by another in the bicycle section. 

Here's how it went down. Santa wanted to bring something for his best little girl special, so bicycle it was. When I went to go do Santa's dirty work (truth: it's not elves that are working around the clock, it's overweight moms like myself. Not quite the picture you expected, huh?). I got to the store and in typical fashion - I'm checking out the style.

She loves pink. I hate pink. But I won' t be riding this bike - so pink it is. I checked out the selection on pink, and it was character based or neon. I will bend on the pink thing, but I can not, will not, get character based apparel (though I have) or toys (though I have). It's your typical parenting conundrum. You say you won't do something, but you do. I decided to pass on Barbie and go for a Tony Hawk neon pink "racing" bike.

Too much. Apparently.

Just enough. Turns out.

I'm hoping she "fits" the bicycle, because of course I learned something new on my shopping spree. Size matters.  I didn't measure her before I left, nor do I know really how tall she is. I basically just stood in the section awaiting children running by looking for someone "her size" so I could ask that parent if they knew how tall their child was. 


Yeah, nothing weird about that - at all.